


Insolence

by masswisteria



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masswisteria/pseuds/masswisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master takes out his disgust and hatred of humanity on a convenient subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insolence

Lucy flashed him a smile over the crowd. A smile that, upon her seeing his own expression, transformed into a devilish grin. The girl probably mistook his contemptuous sneer for a sign of affection. No brighter than the rest of these cattle, all of them clamoring for a glimpse, a word, a touch from the great Harold Saxon. Not a one of them capable of remotely conceiving the truth of him. His true greatness. Honestly, he did not understand just what the Doctor saw in these lesser creatures, these _Earthlings_. The Doctor called them noble. He called them great. The Master called them fools.

Their stink permeated the air of this place. Lucy’s own most - and worst - of all. They had come together now, crossed through the morass of Harold Saxon’s adoring worshippers. As they worked their way through the crowd together, hand in hand, the odor of her arousal assaulted his senses. He ignored it. To think, the Doctor never seemed to be without one or more of these disgusting beings. That he could find anything appealing about a race so beholden to its base desires, barely sentient, slaves to biology and hormones and emotion, incapable even of childlike reasoning or understanding…there could be no clearer evidence of the Doctor’s inferiority. He felt his temperature rising, no doubt due to his anger at the Doctor’s betrayals. He willed the heat from his face.

They arrived outside the open door to the lift that would take them away from the teeming masses. He took in Lucy’s sickening sweetness with every breath. Her pheromones, refined over eons to drive human males into a frenzy, he dismissed effortlessly. Still, her presumption affronted him. She at least knew some fragment of the truth of him. She should have known he was beyond such human trivialities. Not for the first time he considered disposing of her. He forced his breathing to slow, released the tension brought on by her audacity. No, Lucy still had her part to play. One mustn’t shed a disguise too soon, no matter how it chafes.

With a last smile and wave to the crowd, he stepped backwards into the waiting lift, all but dragging Lucy with him. The doors slid closed, shutting out the din of the crowd and leaving the Master alone with Lucy and her musky stench. He saw that grin play across her face again, with eyes a shade too intense, and a hint of…what? Knowing? It was ridiculous. She thought she could have an effect on him. She actually believed her pathetic physiology could manipulate him like a simple, stupid human male. Such insolence surely deserved death, but that could not come for her yet. Still, he knew one way to end this.

In one quick motion he had her against the mirrored wall of the lift, his right hand on her throat. For a moment her expression faltered, became one of surprise, but then that stupid, arrogant look returned. The Master’s pulse raced, his breath became ragged, but he didn’t care anymore. He would force her to understand. Gripping her tightly by the throat, he spun Lucy around and slammed her against the opposite wall. He leaned in close, crushing her body against the wall. “Say my name,” he commanded.

“Harold…” she mocked. Lucy’s hands fumbled at something between them.

He released her neck just long enough to backhand her across her insolent, simpleton mouth. “Say my _name_.”

Lucy giggled and her eyes trailed downward. Her hands moved again, and the Master felt them on him drawing out his member, caressing it.

The Master tightened his grip on her once more and slapped her hands away. He yanked her skirt up over her hips, dimly registered the popping of seams, then ripped away the scrap of cloth that passed for an undergarment. He straightened her head, forced her eyes to meet his. “You _will_ say my name,” he whispered, and drove himself into her.

Lucy’s cry was diminished somewhat by her constricted throat.

He held himself within her, waited, focused on her, ensured that he held her gaze, then began to thrust. He would make her understand her position. He would endure this, for the sake of teaching her that lesson. Yes, endure. A shiver ran through him at the thought of deriving pleasure from this act. He knew it was possible; the records aboard the TARDIS had taught him much of the Doctor’s…proclivities. It should not be a surprise that his one-time partner had fallen so far. It certainly explained some of the Doctor’s obsession with this planet.

Still, the image of him engaged in such acts, willfully, he could hardly stand it. His thrusts took on a rhythmic pattern. The Doctor with these Earthlings, writhing, crying out one another’s name…the Master would put an end to that. Soon. He would silence them. And then he would make them scream. The Doctor. His pathetic companions. Lucy. The whole world. They would all scream his name.

His climax came suddenly, amid violent screams of triumph and wild cries of pleasure.

His breath came in ragged gasps. Abruptly, the Master released Lucy from his grip and pulled away from her. He began to compose himself. Slowly, Lucy stepped away from the wall and turned to inspect her reflection. She reached up and fingered the growing bruises on her neck. Her eyes shifted up and over, catching the Master’s own in the mirror. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“…Master…” she whispered, still tracing the imprint of his grip.


End file.
